Tall tales and tag clouds

I started Grandma's Briefs more than two years ago primarily to share all things Bubby. What he is, what he does, and what he says. If you take a look at the sidebar to the right, you'll see in the "I write about" tag cloud near the bottom that the largest word there—meaning the word that gets the most play, gets tagged most often here on the blog—is, of course, Bubby.

Grandma's Briefs was all about Bubby because Bubby was my only grandchild.

Then along came Baby Mac. And because I'm now just as enamored with him as I was (and continue to be) with Bubby, there's a whole lot of catching up to do to get the size of Mac's name in the Grandma's Briefs tag cloud anywhere near the size of Bubby's.

To do that, I need to, just as I did with Bubby, write many a post on all he is, all he does, and all he says.

"You can write all about what he is and what he does," you may be thinking, "but Baby Mac, at two-and-a-half-months old, surely isn't saying anything yet."

And that right there is where I'd have to stop you and say, "Au contraire, dear readers and think-out-louders. For my little Baby Mac is indeed saying a whole lot more than most might imagine."

In fact, Baby Mac is quite the story teller. Just listen to this tale of happiness—sprinkled with a wee bit of woe—he dished out just for his captivated Gramma:

See what I mean? With so much to say, it won't take long for Baby Mac's name to inch closer and closer to the size of Bubby's. Sure, Bubby will naturally always be larger; it's one of the perks of being my firstborn grandchild, I suppose.

But I can imagine Mac will soon outsize grandparenting—and he'll be giving Grilled Grandmas a run for their money in no time.

Today's question:

If you were to share the story of your weekend, would it be a tale of adventure, woe, happiness, serendipity, or sloth?

Gramma's wake-up call

When I visit Bubby, he loves to wake me in the morning. I'm supposed to stay in my bed until he creeps in and tells me "Good morning, Gramma!" Then he usually crawls into bed with me and we chat for a few minutes before heading downstairs for breakfast.

If Bubby happens to sleep late and I get up before he does, he chastises me with, "I was supposed to wake you up, Gramma!" I then either return to my bed and we go through the motions of how things were supposed to go down, or we agree that I'll stay in bed the following morning until my wake-up call from Bubby.

Bubby's alarms of choice include simply whispering "Good morning, Gramma," shaking a jingle-bell adorned dog collar, or blowing his harmonica. The first is a sweet way to start the day; the second two are mildly alarming. One morning this past week, though, there was this—at about quadruple the decibels of this video (or so it seemed):

Although not the way I typically rise and shine, I can handle bells and I can handle harmonicas rousing me from a deep sleep. A psycho hip-hop reindeer rocking the house—and my brain—right outta the REM stage not so much.

Actually—and this is no joke or exaggeration, folks—I thought I was having a heart attack. Honest. I didn't remember the psycho reindeer from previous trips so hearing it go off at 6:03 in the morning was the trippiest experience I've had in quite some time. And the scariest. And the closest I've come to my heart going into overload and exploding right there on the spot.

Bubby didn't know to what degree he freaked out Gramma because instead of screeching my instinctive response of "What the <cuss>? <Cussing> stop that <cussing> <cusser> <cussing> NOW!", I simply said, "Turn that off now, Bubby. It's morning and that's too loud for Gramma."

Then I sat on the edge of the bed and tried to calm my thunderous heart.

An hour later I was still trying to get my heart rate back to normal. And wondering what's up with the near heart attack. Then wondering if I'm getting too old for this grandma gig. Followed by wondering if "too old to be a grandma" is an oxymoron of some sort.

It didn't matter because my racing heart likely just means this grandma is simply way outta shape.

And way not into the hip-hop reindeer thing.

Especially as a morning wake-up call.

Today's question:

What serves as your morning wake-up call? (Bonus points to those who say whether or not they use the "snooze" function.)

Make-believe Gramma

A morning on the patio with Bubby in May.

At three years old, Bubby's imagination has blossomed. He delights in playing games of pretend, all make-believe and all played according to his rules.

One of Bubby's favorites is playing Fireman—usually with a policeman hot on the fireman's tail, for some unknown reason. When I'm visiting, I'm assigned the policeman role more often than not. In the role, according to Bubby's rules, I'm to chase Bubby the Fireman around and around while making a "police" noise dictated by Bubby, one impossible for me to replicate in writing.

Bubby also loves, loves, LOVES playing Water Monster at the Splash Pad. Some days Daddy is assigned the role of Water Monster; sometimes it's Mommy. In that game, the Water Monster chases Bubby all around the Splash Pad (or whatever water park they may be at), threatening to dump buckets of water on Bubby...who does his best to avoid the buckets yet squeals in delight when it (inevitably) happens.

This past week or so, Megan says, Bubby has devised a new game. And it stars me, or at least Megan pretending to be me. It's called The Gramma Game.

Before describing the game, here's a little background relative to the play. When I visit, Bubby and I typically start our day with some time on the patio—my only opportunity to enjoy the outdoors before the oppressive desert heat renders me housebound. I relax in a chair, cup of coffee in hand, while Bubby rides his trike around the patio, us chit-chatting back and forth all the while.

That minor yet clearly meaningful to him ritual has led to The Gramma Game. It goes like this: When Megan returns from her daily early morning run, she cools down on the patio for a few minutes. That's when Bubby joins her and proclaims "Let's play The Gramma Game. You be the Gramma and I'll be the Grandkid." He directs Megan to gaze out a pretend window and say, "I wonder where my Grandkid is. I miss him." Then when Bubby the Grandkid comes into view, she's to say "Oh, you're here, Grandkid! I missed you!"

("He's very specific about my actions, telling me what I should be doing or saying," Megan says, in explaining The Gramma Game.)

After exclaiming over how much Gramma has missed the Grandkid, Gramma gets to watch Bubby the Grandkid ride his trike—not the big-boy bike used for real rides—around and around on the patio. Just like the real Gramma does while visiting. Pretend Gramma/Megan watches enthusiastically until Bubby the Grandkid gets off his trike and asks Gramma if there's any "brefast in the pantry" because he's hungry.

Words can't describe how honored I am to have a game named after me. Nor can they describe how excited I am to soon be there to play it with Bubby. Only three more days and The Gramma Game will come to life. No more pretend, no more gazing out a window, no more missing my grandkid. Reality is so much better than the game.

In most cases.

There is one aspect of the game, though, that is indeed so much better than the reality. In The Gramma Game, Megan says, Bubby makes it clear he doesn't have to get on a plane to visit Gramma, he has only to ride his trike to reach me.

Ah, I would give anything for the reality to be as simple as the make-believe.

In reality, though, what I do give is thanks for the planes that bring Bubby to me and me to Bubby.

And for only three more days.

Today's question:

What games of make-believe do you recall from your childhood or those of your children?

Of bloggers and babies

Today begins the final countdown and prep work as I plan to take off for the two summer events I've most looked forward to. Well, beyond the early summer birth of Baby Mac, that is.

The first is BlogHer. In San Diego. With my friend and fellow blogger Heather from Jackadillo Princess. And three thousand other bloggers.

Heather and I leave Thursday morning and return Sunday night, and to say I'm excited about attending my first blog conference is truly an understatement. I'm also, though, quite anxious about the whole thing.

As I've noted before, I was once a shy young lass, and events such as this tend to cause me to revert to my lassie days and ways. Especially after learning that one of the features of the BlogHer conference is the "Serenity Suite," a "safe place" where attendees can escape the overwhelming crowds and relax. And vent to one of the caring bloggers taking turns hosting the suite, if you're in meltdown mode, overcome by the exhilaration of real-life interaction with one another. And the snarkiness that can accompany the real-life interaction of 3,000 (mostly female) bloggers vying for the attentions of one another as well as big-time potential blog sponsors and advertisers.

The idea that a Serenity Suite is necessary scares me a bit. But I'm hoping to have no need for it except to possibly put my feet up after walking the Expo Hall or partying down at one of the bajillions of parties planned for the duration.

I'm also hoping any negativity will be outweighed by the positive force that can be when a massive and dynamic group of women join together to support one another in something which we are all passionate—blogging.

Mostly, though, I'm hoping to come away with awesome ideas for taking Grandma's Briefs to the next level, ideas to bring back and share with you, ideas for you. Which is along with all the parties and the swag I'll nab the main reason this introvert is willing to pretend to be an extrovert for a few days anyway. Wish me luck.

While BlogHer is a definitely a high point of my summer, the event taking place just a few days after my return from it is the true blue highlight of the sweltering season for me: a trip to the desert (and its sweltering heat) to once again see Bubby and Baby Mac!

For six whole days I get to drop the "long-distance" qualifier from my name and be a real-and-in-person (and in charge) grandma to my grandsons while Megan and Preston head off to a resort to celebrate their fifth wedding anniversary. I'm packing my Grandma Bag, lining up activities, and making sure my camera battery is fully charged.

When it comes to the visit with my babies, though, if I'm wore out after crafts and cuddles, marathon storytimes, bathtimes for both, and chasing Bubby round and round while playing policeman to his fireman, I'll have no need for a substitute Serenity Suite. No, I'll just plop down in the rocking chair, situate one grandson in my arms and another by my side, and we'll rock away to our heart's content—a serenity so sweet on its own.

Today's question:

What are you planning and/or preparing for this week?

My reward for eating so much

I did something awesome and I just have to tell you about it. Many of you may have done it before ... possibly many times before ... but this is my first time. And I'm feeling pretty awesome about it.

With a post title such as it is, what, pray tell, might it be?

Well, get this: I got a free airline ticket. Round trip. Because I eat so much.

Okay, not really because I eat so much, but because I buy so much to eat.

At the grocery store.

And I use my Southwest Airlines Rapid Rewards credit card to pay for all that food I eat (with the help of Jim, the dogs, the cats, of course). Then I pay off the credit card when I get home from the grocery store.

And I gotta say, when Southwest named its loyalty program "Rapid Rewards" they weren't kidding. My points added up fast, primarily from grocery shopping but I must admit that I've done the same with other purchases, too. Actually, most purchases. At least all purchases I would normally pay for with my debit card. Yeah, it takes a little time having to go online to pay off a card right after making purchases, but how lazy might I seem if I complained about that?

So, in relatively lickety split time, I earned enough points for a free round-trip flight. Woo-hoo! (Well, again in all honesty, it wasn't completely free; I had to pay $5 for one of the fees that isn't covered by the rewards program.)

And where do you think I'll be going with my free flight?

Do you really need to ask? Really?

Okay, since you asked, I'll tell you: I'm using my free flight to visit Bubby and Mac. Again. Just a couple months after being there in June. Yep, I'll be flying Southwest in August to see these sweeties, the lights of my life:

Oh, I can't wait!

Why, you might also ask, am I still using Southwest even though I wrote a Dear John letter to them months ago when Allegiant came to town?

Well, since you asked, I'll tell you: I'm still using Southwest because the flight schedule for Allegiant is ridiculous, with only ridiculously early flights on ridiculously few days per week.

And because Southwest doesn't charge for bags. Grandmas need lots of luggage for lugging gifts to the grandkids, and Southwest doesn't ding grandmas for such things. Allegiant does.

Most importantly of all, though, is that Southwest rewards me. For eating so much. Or buying so much. Or both.

So yeah, I"m tooting my own horn for figuring out how to make the most of an opportunity many wiser and more worldly folks have likely long known existed.

And for having yet another opportunity to visit my grandsons.

This one for free.

In less than a month.

Woo-hoo!

Disclosure: This post may read like an ad for Southwest. It's not. I was not paid (nor even approached) to write this. Although I'm thinking more and more that those Southwest folks really oughta make me a Brand Ambassador, possibly pay me. Oh wait ... they did pay me ... with a free flight ... but that wasn't for gushing over them, it was for eating. Well ... you get the idea. They didn't pay me for this post. Even though I wish they had.

Today's question:

What is your favorite loyalty/rewards program, such as those for grocery stores, clothing stores, Starbucks, airlines, etc?

Road to recovery

For Bubby, the last five days were a road filled with icky medicine, popsicles, no appetite, pain, rough nights, and more popsicles during his recovery from tonsil and adenoid removal.

Today, things are nearly back to normal for him.

For me, the last five days were a road filled with hugs, cuddles, popsicles, reading picture books, playing "police" on the patio, bathtime, and some silly statements I'll never forget while visiting Bubby during his recovery from tonsil and adenoid removal.

Today, things are back to normal for me.

I have to admit, I think I got the short end of the stick in our return to normal. (Although I begrudge Bubby the long end of that stick not one eency teency iota!)

Today's question:

What has been the highlight of your week so far?

Do the zoo

Cheyenne Mountain Zoo, at 6,800 feet above sea level, is America's only mountain zoo. It has a 145-acre footprint, with 45 acres of that in active use for housing and displaying over 150 species — 30 of those species endgangered — and an animal count of more than 800.

I'm fortunate to have Cheyenne Mountain Zoo as my local zoo. I'm even more fortunate to have recently had the joy of visiting my favorite zoo with Bubby.

Today's question:

What zoo do you love to visit?